Earth Studies 101
by Vaeru
Summary: Transformers AU. Sparkbearer sidestory. Professor Evelyn Hughes is accustomed to teaching linguistics, but when one is friends with a crew of giant alien robots, one must be prepared to teach lessons of a very different sort. Drabbles and oneshots.
1. Society: Transportation: Traffic Laws

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Earth Studies 101

**Summary: **Transformers AU. Sparkbearer sidestory. Professor Evelyn Hughes of Mason City College is accustomed to teaching linguistics, but when one is friends with a crew of giant alien robots, one must be prepared to teach lessons of a very different sort. Drabbles and oneshots.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** And here we have a glimpse into Evelyn's not-so-distant future. Consider this a tide-me-over to all the Jux fans waiting for me to get off my aft… or a shameless bribe to prevent death-threats or any of that nasty business. However you want to take it. X3

**

* * *

Earth Studies 101**

**Society: Transportation: Traffic Laws**

_

* * *

Need I remind you, 007, that you have a license to kill, not to break the __traffic __laws__.  
_**- Q, ****Goldeneye**

* * *

The stylist actually let out a little squeal of dismay as she ran her hands through Evelyn's too-long hair.

"Oh, honey, what happened to you?" she murmured, the pity in her voice more suited to someone inquiring after a battered woman's latest black eye rather than a severe case of split ends.

Evelyn relaxed back into the chair, trying not to fidget beneath the tent-like cloth wrapped in a stranglehold around her neck. "I've been out of the country. Amazing what a year without conditioner can do, isn't it?"

"Oh, _honey." _The stylist's expression could only be described as appalled. "You poor thing. Just hang tight, okay? I'll have you fixed up just quick as you please. How much did you say you wanted taken off?"

Evelyn felt her muscles beginning to unwind as she settled down to enjoy the unique pleasure of having one's hair pampered. The stylist was good at her job, quick but gentle, keeping up light banter about inconsequential things as she combed the thick mass of hair into some semblance of order and wetted it down to settle flyaway strands. The quiet _snip-snip _of the scissors made a rhythmic counterpoint to the latest hair-salon gossip and the whirring of hairdryers and the buzzing of a razor from the furthest station.

The relaxing atmosphere was shattered as the too-familiar strains of the Star Wars theme blared jauntily from the depths of Evelyn's purse just as the stylist was combing a layer of hair in front of Evelyn's eyes in preparation for shaping new bangs.

Evelyn froze, stomach sinking, and she breathed a quiet, "Oh… bolts." Louder, she added, "Um, I need to take that. I'm really sorry. Um…" Her arms shifted awkwardly beneath the drop-cloth, trying to work their way to an edge. Her purse was plunked into her lap by the frowning stylist just as her hands found freedom. With another murmured apology, she dug out her cell and flipped it open, stopping the racket. Pushing her hair away from her eyes and tucking it back behind her shoulders, she raised it to her ear.

"This had better be important," she muttered.

A male voice, one that gave an impression of youth and a blithely cheerful demeanor, came over the line, far clearer than the Verizon communication system could account for. _"Evelyn, what's the difference between the white and yellow lines?"_

She blinked. "What?"

"_On the roads. There's yellow and there's white, and some are long and some are short. What're they for?"_

"… the traffic lines?" she inquired weakly. _Oh, hello, Sinking Feeling. Haven't seen you around in a while._

"_Is that what they're called?"_

"They mark lanes. You stay in your lane –on the _right side— _and other traffic stays in the other lane. White lines separate lanes going in the same direction. Yellow separates different directions. Sideswipe, why are you asking me about traffic lines?"

"_Well, it's not like I _hit _anybody," _groused the other speaker. _"I dunno why he's even following me."_

"Why who's following you?"

"_One of the guys with the weird cars and the flashy lights. He's been on my tail for the last couple minutes."_

"Y-you—You're being chased by the _cops?" _

Activity in the salon ground to a halt.

"_Just one!" _retorted Sideswipe, sounding defensive.

"What the hell did you do?!"

"_I didn't _do _anything! All I did was pass this speed-challenged rustbucket, and this guy popped up out of nowhere!"_

"You passed someone?" She controlled her volume with an effort. "Let me guess: doubled, solid, yellow lines."

"_Hey, yeah! How'd you know?"_

"Because it's fraggin' _illegal, _and no wonder the police want to chase you. My god, Sideswipe, those lines are there to make sure you don't kill someone! Didn't any of you look up driving rules before leaping into rush-hour traffic, or did you think you could play it by ear?"

"_Play it by whatsit?"_

"_Google it," _she hissed.

"_Aw, c'mon, Evy, I wouldn't have hurt anyone! I'd sense any other cars miles before they got close enough to even see me!"_

"That doesn't matter! Get your aft back to the others, lose the cops, and don't move an _inch _until I get there, and don't you think I won't be talking with Prowl about downloading driving etiquette reports to shove down your intake ports before you get yourselves impounded!"

"_But Evy…"_

"_Now, _Sideswipe!"

"… _I guess this is a bad time to tell you that Bluestreak wants to know what all the little yellow pieces of paper are that people keep sticking on his windshield…"_

"Yes," she replied, eyes narrowed to slits. "A very bad time. And Sideswipe?"

"_Yeah?"_

"If I see this on the six-o'clock news, I'm going to tell Ratchet just _how_ Jazz wound up in the river last week. Compute?"

A nervous chuckle. _"Eh-heh. Gotcha. Quick and subtle it is. Sideswipe out!"_

Heart running at double-time, lips pinched in a fierce frown, Evelyn snapped her phone closed and held it in her clenched fist, not quite able to rid herself of the desire to throw it at the nearest wall.

"Driving instructor, huh?" inquired the stylist meekly.

Evelyn snorted.

"Babysitter," she replied.

**

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End Traffic Laws**


	2. Biology: Disease: Virus

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

**

* * *

Title: **Earth Studies 101

**Summary: **Transformers AU. Sparkbearer sidestory. Professor Evelyn Hughes of Mason City College is accustomed to teaching linguistics, but when one is friends with a crew of giant alien robots, one must be prepared to teach lessons of a very different sort. Drabbles and oneshots.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **none

**Author Notes:** My muse is back! My muse is back! … though she is being rather random…

**

* * *

Earth Studies 101**

**Biology: Disease: Virus**

_

* * *

We all end up dead. It's just a question of how, why.  
_**- William Wallace, ****Braveheart**

* * *

"The rookie's putting out a distress code."

This was said less from any sense of courtesy on Sunstreaker's part than for the simple reason that he had detected the very distinctive expansion of his passenger's lungs in preparation for producing some kind of noisy protest. The organic did not like it at all when he made such sudden changes of direction, but if she had sensors like any sensibly-built mech, she would have been able to detect the beacon signal herself.

"Distress? What's wrong?"

He did not bother to answer, using his sensor net to plot a course through the congealed mess of traffic that stood between them and the rookie. He broke several human laws in the process, but a Cybertronian could not be expected to adhere to the same rules that governed the clumsy, organic-driven shells littering the roads.

It wasn't like anyone would catch him, anyway.

The rookie's signal came from well beyond the community's limits, far out in the middle of the green, poofy growths that coated the region like a giant colony of fungus. They were filling the air with yellow spores, too, just like fungus. He could feel them clinging to his armor and the insides of his ventilation systems and the gaps at his joints. _Disgusting. _

He ran the probabilities of coercing his passenger into a trip through the human-run washracks. (The squishies were good for _something_, after all. And they made good wax. It made it marginally easier to bear their sticky, oily, smelly existences.)

Prowl and Jazz were already at the scene, which was no surprise. They looked after the rookie the way particularly neurotic creators looked after their protos. The two older mechs had the gray youngling sandwiched between them, all three pulled far to the side of the road, Prowl's lights flashing red and blue. Sideswipe was there, too, obviously having come from the opposite direction, parked across the road from the trio.

Sunstreaker received the faintest of pulses over the bond, and he returned it, a bare acknowledgement of the other's existence, something along the lines of _(Hey)._

The organic femme was tugging at the interior of his door before he had even come to a halt, and she had exited even before it had risen fully out of the way.

"Bluestreak? What happened?"

And she was off, trotting away toward the little cuddle-fest with enough _maternal _concern oozing from her to fit right in with the tactician and the saboteur.

The gray mech quivered on his tires. "Evelyn, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do it. I didn't see it – I mean, I _saw _it, or I sensed it, but I never thought… Why would it run _at_ me? I never thought it would run _toward _me–!"

"Calm down, Blue," said Jazz, voice low and purposefully soothing. "Of course it was an accident."

"You hit something?" asked the femme.

Sunstreaker scoffed. Loudly. The smear of organic matter across the Datsun's right front bumper was blaringly obvious.

"It's… It's over there." The rookie twitched forward on his tires. Sunstreaker's sensors followed the movement to a small mound of slowly cooling organic material. The color was pale orange with bits of brown and white, the original shape (from what he could deduce) something like one of the 'dog' creatures with which the humans were so enamored.

The femme's stance stiffened slightly, and Sunstreaker detected the faintest rise of her vitals, a sign of interest or increased mental or emotional activity.

"Oh, Blue." The femme patted the Datsun's side, the movement very deliberate, not at all like her usual easy attitude around the rookie.

Sunstreaker felt his own interest peak. He sent a pulse to Sideswipe _(You see that?) _and received an almost immediate reply _(Yeah. Weird.)_.

"Look, Blue, it's not a big deal. Earth animals don't have a lot of luck when it comes to cars and roads. Be grateful it was just a fox and not a deer, or we'd be pounding dents out of you for a week. How about you head back to the house? I'll give you a wash."

The rookie gave a little indecisive whine of his engine. "But what about–"

"We'll take care of it. You just go on; we'll be coming right behind you."

"I'm right with ya, Blue." Jazz revved his engine in encouragement.

"Go on, Bluestreak," said Prowl.

Quite uncharacteristically of the gunner, he wordlessly obeyed, giving the dead organic a wide, wide berth on his way past. Jazz followed on his bumper.

The femme had her arms crossed over her chest, her expression some odd mix of thoughtful and grim. She sighed.

"Burn it."

Both Sunstreaker and Sideswipe's engines stuttered in surprise. Prowl's lights, previously shut off, blinked once brightly.

"Evelyn?" prompted the tactician.

"Foxes are nocturnal. It's high noon in the middle of August. This one was either sick or dying, and if it ran out in front of a moving vehicle, I'd bet sick. And the big scary thing around here is rabies." She swiped one hand across her mouth, optics focusing down the road at the little lump of fur and flesh. "Mama said they'd had some rabid coons and a possum round here. I don't know if animals can catch it from eating an infected animal, but I'm not going to chance it, especially this close to the farm. So… burn it."

_(… Huh.)_

_(Yeah.)_

The tactician made no reply. Evelyn seemed to focus upon Sunstreaker. Engine running nearly silent, he eased nearer, passing the femme and the other mechs, activating the pulse-cannon hidden beneath his hood. A moment calibrating the energy levels and scanning for any nearby cars, and the body vanished into a smear of black carbon, faintly steaming.

"Thank you," said the femme.

"Hn."

She sighed again, but the tension was fading from her frame.

"Just don't tell Blue."

**

* * *

End Virus**


	3. Transportation: Traffic Laws: Speeding

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

**

* * *

Title: **Earth Studies 101

**Summary: **Transformers AU. Sparkbearer sidestory. Professor Evelyn Hughes of Mason City College is accustomed to teaching linguistics, but when one is friends with a crew of giant alien robots, one must be prepared to teach lessons of a very different sort. Drabbles and oneshots.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** A special request from Cafei that it only took, oh… a year and a half to complete? Ha ha.

**

* * *

Earth Studies 101**

**Transportation: Traffic Laws: Speeding**

_**

* * *

Col. Sandurz:**__ Prepare ship for light speed!__  
__**Dark Helmet:**__ No, no, no, light speed is too slow!__  
__**Col. Sandurz:**__ Light speed, too slow?! __  
__**Dark Helmet:**__ Yes, we're gonna have to go right to...ludicrous speed!  
_**- Spaceballs**

* * *

Jacob Hart would have noticed the car even had it not been doing ninety-five in a seventy miles-per-hour zone. He was no car nut, but the scarlet vehicle screamed _EXPENSIVE _so loud that his dead mother-in-law would have heard it. Dropping the radar gun in the passenger seat, he flicked on his lights and siren and pulled onto the interstate in pursuit.

For a minute or so, he thought that a simple speeding violation would turn into one of those hour-long, eight-car chases that always seemed to find their way onto World's Wildest Police Videos. He took a certain guilty pleasure in pushing the Charger's engine nearly to the hundred mark on the speedometer – there was something to be said for being one of the first on the force to get one of the new patrol cars – and gained slowly but surely on the red speed-demon weaving in and out of the few cars on the road. The other cars had the sense to slow down and get out of the policeman's way, making his job just that much easier, and he eased up directly behind the red sports car's bumper.

The back end jerked a little bit – less of a fishtail than a wriggle – and the brake lights flashed as it slowed and pulled to the side.

* * *

"You idiot!"

"What?"

"You… You… You rust-ridden piece of junkyard _scrap! _I ought to have left you for dead on the side of the road when I had the chance!"

"… Well, that's not very nice."

"_Sideswipe!"_

"Please, I wasn't even running over a hundred! And I could have outrun him, you know."

"Yes, because red Lamborghini Countachs are _so _common in northeast Georgia!"

* * *

Jacob glanced up once more at the vehicle parked before him on the side of the interstate even as he ran through all the standard jargon and queries and checks and double-checks over the radio, though with decidedly less eloquence than normal.

"It's a red… something."

"… _something."_

"Yeah. Uh, kind of like that car on _Back to the Future, _you know? I don't see a name anywhere. License number Sierra-Sierra-Whiskey-India-Papa-Echo One."

"_Checking now." _

Jacob lowered the radio and squinted at the car's back-end, all straight lines and sharp angles with detailing down either side like rows of scales. Even within the patrol car and with the noise of cars zipping past every two seconds, he could still hear the engine purring like some gigantic cat.

_Might try to run soon as I get out of the car, _he mused suspiciously.

"_Database shows license number Sierra-Sierra-Whiskey-India-Papa-Echo One registered to Evelyn Meredith Hughes. No priors, no outstandings. And it's a Lamborghini."_

He let out a low whistle. "Lamborghini? Damn ugly to be that pricey."

"_Can't buy taste, Hart."_

Perhaps it was his imagination, but the purr of the other car's engine seemed to deepen for a moment before evening out once more.

* * *

"I'm going to kill you."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true. I'm going to kill you. And then I'm going to disassemble you. And then I'm going to let your psycho brother make metal-art out of your mangled remains. And then I'll _sell _it, and I'll buy a car that _does what I tell it to _instead of trying to break the sound-barrier going down I-85!"

"I'll stop by Chick-Fil-A on the way back."

"_What the hell does that have to do with anything?"_

"You always get cranky when you miss a refueling."

"Oh, blow it out your exhaust. Here he comes. Play dead."

* * *

The speeder did not try to flee, to Jacob's mild surprise, though the engine continued to run. The windows were heavily tinted, moreso than was allowed by law, he was certain, and he made a note of it on his pad as he approached the driver's side. He had a vague impression of movement within, and the window slid downwards.

He blinked.

Some rich businessman, perhaps, or a spoiled college kid on his way back from siphoning funds from mommy and daddy… He had expected practically anyone for a driver except a rather nondescript young woman clad in a baggy gray sweatshirt and much-abused jeans. Too-pale skin suggested that she spent less time outside than was healthy, and though she smiled, it was the strained smile of someone who knew they were in Trouble and were not quite certain how to handle that fact, rather like a straight-A student who had just been informed that they were to report to the principal's office for a paddling.

"Ma'am, do you know how fast you were going?"

"Um… eighty-five?"

"Try ninety-five, ma'am."

"Oh." Her smile faltered, and she swallowed heavily. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you are. License and registration please?"

"S-sure. Um… just a second." A moment's fumbling produced a license from a battered quilted purse, and then she glanced around the car as though at a loss. "… oh, god, do Lamborghinis even _have_ dashboard compartments…?"

The last was muttered so that Jacob barely heard. He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Um, just… talking to myself."

On the passenger side of the car's dash, a small panel popped open.

"Oh, good!" said the woman. She leaned across and reached into the too-dark space.

Jacob stared.

The woman's arm vanished into the compartment, nearly past her elbow. _That… is a very spacious dashboard._

She handed him a crisp insurance card and registration sheet, not so much as one wrinkle or smear marring either.

"Alright, ma'am, this'll just take a minute. You can cut off your engine, you know."

"No, no." She laughed, sounding nervous. "You know how stubborn foreign cars can be. Never know if they'll crank when you need them."

The engine sputtered then, sounding on the verge of dying completely.

The woman leveled an affronted glare at the steering wheel. "Case in point."

"… I'll be back in a second."

He retreated to the familiar normalcy of his patrol car.

* * *

"What exactly was that?"

"Must have had some bad energon."

"Oh, I'm _sure. _Can't you restrain yourself for five minutes? That's all I ask. Five measly minutes!"

"I dunno. You know how stubborn foreign cars can be."

"Yeah, especially those pesky extraterrestrial models."

* * *

"_She's clean, Jake. Not even a parking ticket."_

"You're sure?" Jacob eyed the radio dubiously, as though the dispatcher could see the expression.

"_Absolutely. I ran it twice. But there is something pretty interesting. About six months ago, she acquired her own car collection."_

"Collection?"

"_A Porsche, two Datsuns – Fairlady Z's, says here, – a Jeep of some kind, two Lamborghinis–"_

"Two!"

"_You heard me. Two. _Dos._ A matched pair, Lamborghini Countachs, and something called a Ligier Juliet-Sierra-One-One, whatever that is."_

_Ligier JS11?_

"That's a formula one racing car!"

"_If you say so, Jake."_

"What the hell is a middle-aged no one doing with Porsches and Lamborginis and a _Ligier?"_

"_You can ask her, I suppose, but it's all kosher on my end. Give her the ticket and tell her to drive safe and ease off the gas pedal."_

"It's suspicious!"

"_Maybe she has a rich uncle that just croaked. What do we know? You can't arrest a woman for owning a Lamborghini."_ There was a pause, then, _"Or two."_

* * *

"Do you _want_ to get taken to the impound?"

"The… what?"

"The police impound. They put a metal shackle on your tire so you can't roll anywhere, and you're locked in with a bunch of other cars, and you're _stuck _there until someone decides to come and pay the police to free you. And let me tell you, wiseaft, if you get me arrested, it will be a cold day in the Inferno when I come to spring you from the cops. Compute?"

"Primus, are you menstruating already? I thought I had at least another orn before that came around again…"

"Just because I want to _hurt _you does not mean that I'm hormonal!"

* * *

As he approached the driver's side window again, Jake had the suspicion that the woman was muttering to herself, but by the time he reached the window, she was silent and gazing up at him with a tense little smile and wide eyes.

"Your license and registration, ma'am."

"Thank you."

"Quite a car." He eyed the Lamborghini, a dull sort of resentment within him. His Charger suddenly seemed a lot less appealing. He remembered hearing once that police in Italy drove around in Lamborghini's, and for the briefest moment, the idea of moving overseas called to him.

The woman laughed, a short, unamused sound.

"Yeah, he's… new. Takes a little getting used to."

"I see." He finished filling out the ticket and settled into the familiar routine of 'You Have Broken The Law And Must Now Be Punished.' "Since you have no priors, I'm going to bump down your speed to eighty-nine instead of ninety-five, okay? A bit of a break. Twenty miles over is a big deal, Ms. Hughes. You have until the court date to pay the fine. You can mail it, drop it off at the Department of Motor Vehicles – Gwinnett County – or you can come to court to pay it in person or to contest it. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Here you are." He tore out the ticket and handed her the various papers that went with the fine. "You're free to go, but don't let me catch you speeding again. You won't get off as easily next time, especially not in a monster like this."

An odd grin crossed the woman's face. "Monster. I like that."

Jacob bit back a sigh. "Drive safely, ma'am."

He turned to head back to his own car, watching out of the corner of his eye as the woman looked down at the ticket and did a visible double-take. He smirked to himself as he settled behind the wheel and pulled back out onto the interstate.

_Twenty miles over the limit, hm? _he thought. _We'll see if you try that again._

* * *

"Well. That went well."

"… Two hundred… and thirty-seven dollars."

"It could have been worse."

"_Two hundred. And thirty-seven. Dollars."_

"Hey, at least you weren't arrested!"

"…"

"Erm… okay. Okay, we're going to head back to base now. Alright? Nice and easy. Evelyn? Please stop looking at me like that. It's kind of creepy. I mean… wait. Who are you calling? Evelyn?"

"Hello, Prowl? Could you come pick me up, please? ... Well, yes, as a matter of fact, I am with Sideswipe… It's a _very _interesting story…"

"… frag me."

**

* * *

End Speeding.**


End file.
